


Brooding

by Chess_Blackfyre



Series: Galahad Dulak: Space Doctor and Rare Emotionally Stable Jedi [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Maris is Aayla's Padawan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chess_Blackfyre/pseuds/Chess_Blackfyre
Summary: Aayla takes a padawan, Bly co-parents, Quinlan is very excited to have a grandpadawan, and Maris tries (and fails) to convince her Master to Wear Some Armor You Maniac.
Relationships: Aayla Secura & Maris Brood, CC-5052 | Bly & Aayla Secura, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Galahad Dulak: Space Doctor and Rare Emotionally Stable Jedi [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664269
Comments: 30
Kudos: 399





	Brooding

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Up for Reconsideration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663839) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506). 



> I own nothing.
> 
> Galahad and Saint are my own OCs

Aayla thought she’d have a bit more time before taking on a padawan learner, but Genosis changed things, for everyone. The Jedi were now generals of the Grand Army of the Republic. Her command was the 327th Star Corps. They would need as many on the front lines as they could get. Besides, after her experiences with Padawan Tano on Maridun, Aayla could maybe, possibly, see the Force pushing her in that direction.

(Or she was just getting ahead of the Council deciding to just assign her one as they had with Skywalker.)

So, after spending time in deep meditation, and observing several of the young Initiates, the Jedi Knight selected one Maris Brood to be her padawan. The zabrak girl had a sharp mind and was eager to learn from her. She hoped this would be the beginning of a good apprenticeship. 

On Ilum, Aayla watching as Maris collected two kyber crystals and began assembling her lightsabers. She recited the traditional word for her padawan, just as her master had for her years ago.

“The crystal is the heart of the blade

The heart is the crystal of the Jedi

The Jedi is the crystal of the Force

The Force is the blade of the heart

All are intertwined—the crystal, the blade, the Jedi

You are one.”

The young zabrak ignited her lightsabers, a look of wonder cast in the green glow of her blades. Aayla smiled and placed a hand on her padawan’s shoulder.

* * *

"Commander Bly, this is my new padawan learner, Maris Brood," General Secura introduced. She’d made no secret about looking around for a cadet Jedi, so Bly and the rest of the 327th would have time to prepare for one. (Torrent had A Lot of opinions on taking care of a shiny Jedi. A Lot)

The clone commander took her in. A zabrak, with skin as white as plastoid armor, dark hair, red horns, and big blue eyes. She had the kind of fresh face he normally associated with cadets, even while technically outranking him. She didn’t have the normal hanging braid that marked her as a Jedi Commander, but that was because all of her hair was pulled back into many small braids, and those braids pulled back into a low nerf-tail. Her rank was instead marked by several braid beads strung on one of the braids on the left side of her head.

She offered him a polite bow. “An honor to meet you, commander.”

He returned it with a nod. “You too, commander.”

While Aayla talked with her new shiny, going over the different parts of the bridge, introducing her to some of the deck officers, Bly started planning.

Brood was dressed in more traditional Jedi attire, beige tunic, brown leggings, sensible leather boots, and lightsabers hooked to her belt. It allowed her planets of flexibility, but nothing by way of protection. Bly decided right there and then: this child was going to wear armor. The General was all but a lost cause, but the new commander looked shiny enough to be convinced. But how to introduce the subject…?

The perfect opportunity came when the comm officer informed them of an incoming transmission, specifically for General Secura.

“The council?”

“No, sir. General Vos. He insists it’s urgent.”

Bly would bet anything the man was just trying to get a peek at his new grandpadawan, despite the fact the general was supposed to be on an undercover mission right now. Aayla seemed to realize it too. Exchanging a silent look, she turned back to the comm officer.

“Transfer it to my personal comm. Maris, Commander Bly will have to give you a tour of the rest of the ship. I’m sorry for the interruption, but I’ll meet with you later.”

The kid took it in stride. “Yes, Master.”

Once they were off the bridge, the kid’s body language relaxed, if only by a bit. It would take a while for her to get used to her new CO, he figured.

“So, if you're a commander and I’m the commander...do I technically outrank you?” Her tone was simple curiosity, no hint of smugness or superiority like some natborn officers.

"Technically, yes. But I consider experience to outrank everything--Commander or not, you're still a shiny after all," Bly commented, walking and talking.

"Shiny?" The Jedi tilted her head, looking up at him. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder yet, and it was actually kind of adorable.

“It’s what we call the new recruits,” two such brothers snapped to attention, giving off salutes to their CO’s. Brood just gave an awkward nod. They’d work on that, get the kid used to being in command.

“See their armor? It's shiny and new, just like them. And you.” He teased, trying to get a better sense of her.

"A knight in shining armor is one who has never had their metal truly tested," the commander mused, more to herself than to him. “I think I read that somewhere once.”

“That’s the idea, shiny.” He smiled.

* * *

“So,” Vos asked, his satisfaction coming in through even light-years away. “How’s the new kid?”

“Quinlan, I’ve had her for less than a week.”

“And I just want to let you know that I’ll be here in case you need any advice,” the Shadow assured as if he wasn’t frequently on deep undercover missions. “Or if you and your commander ever need any...alone time away from the kid.”

Aayla shot her master an unimpressed look. “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”

* * *

Bly happily discovered that Commander Brood was a perfectly reasonable person who was open to wearing armor. Aayla was even supportive of her padawan wearing armor, even while still rejecting any proposal for her to wear some herself. Bly was convinced she was just doing it out of sheer stubbornness at this point.

The problem was finding armor that would actually fit. All of the standard-issue armor was the same size and that size was ‘grown man in peak physical fitness’ not ‘scrawny zabrak teen that didn’t even come up to her men’s chins yet’.

The commander has barely been able to start haggling to try and get some smaller sized cadet armor--the most valuable thing on the _vod_ black market was gossip and contraband, and while Bly had plenty of blackmail material on his fellow commanders, none of them were close to Kamino right now--when new orders came in: the 327th was heading to Felucia.

* * *

“So, a zabrak,” Galahad commented. The Star Corps’ resident Force Healer and CMO were in the medical bay with some of the other medics. “Who had that on the pool?” The betting pool that she in no way, shape or form knew about. Obviously.

“Kickback, the bastard,” Hawkeye bit out, dramatically grumpy at losing half his stash of whiskey. “I was _sure_ it was going to be a Nautolan.”

* * *

Bly hates Felucia more than he thought possible to hate anything else.

The jungle planet was an utter hellhole, where the only thing more dangerous than a clanker in the brush were the natives. No, not the native Felucians—the native wildlife. Poisonous flora, aggressive fauna, and all sorts of fungi whose spores had all kinds of nasty side effects. Any kind of civilization that managed to spring up when it seemed every other thing on the planet was actively trying to eat you instantly earned the clone’s respect.

Not to mention the lack of suitable equipment. Walkers were especially ill-equipped for the mud, constantly getting stuck in that or the thick undergrowth. Also, no insect repellent. Dulak had been very insistent on insect repellant. While the genetically enhanced immune systems kept the insect-borne illnesses from being deadly, it slowed their progress and was just an all-around pain in the ass to deal with. Treating it put a drain on ever-dwindling medical supplies, but _not_ treating it made the troopers who got it slower and sloppier until they recovered. Slower and sloppier meant dead out here.

Felucia has also presented some, say, unique challenges for their shiny commander. Who they couldn’t even call shiny anymore after about three days on the planet. She was no pushover, that much was abundantly clear from the first few engagements with the Seppies. Her twin green blades may be shorter, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous. But the lightsabers weren’t the problem.

“What do you mean I have to change?” The zabrak demanded after the morning briefing. The briefing that she had come to wearing what amounted to boots, pants, a belt, and a scrap of cloth over her chest. “It’s not that different from what you’re wearing! Commander, back me up here.”

The clone raised his hands, “I’m staying out of this one.”

“Maris,” the General was using her ‘I’m trying to be reasonable but you are testing me’ voice, “I recognize how humid Felucia is, but as Jedi we need to present a proper image of ourselves.”

“We are in the middle of the jungle, klicks away from any settlements! Who’s gonna see me?”

“It’s the principle of the matter. Plus, with the local plant life, I insist that you go back to your tent and put on an actual shirt.”

“This is a shirt.”

“That barely qualifies as a bra.”

He can tell that the kid’s about to make a retort about what that says about Aayla’s choice of dress. Luckily, Maris thinks better of it. “Ahsoka’s master lets her go out like this!”

“That’s because her general is a dumbass.”

“Bly.”

“What, he is! Letting the kid run around a war zone in, what? Leggings and a tube top?”

The debate was ended by a surprise attack on their left flank, the disagreement forgotten as the General and her two commanders rushed out to provide backup. They spent the better part of the next eight hours fighting wave after wave of flankers in the blood and muck. After several near-misses, a few bruised ribs and way too much time spent making she didn’t accidentally flash a batallion, Maris promised to suck it up and to just wear a shirt from now on.

But the victory didn’t last for long. Whatever bit of biology that made Aayla unappealing to the local insects hadn’t extended to her padawan. The little biters took quite a liking to Maris’ exposed arms, shoulders, stomach--you get the picture.

The young Jedi’s skin was _covered_ in bug bites, the kind that were just as annoying and itchy as they looked. Maris initially took it as her due but after two weeks of stoically trying to be brave the kid just snapped. The commander all but ripped her tunic off and started cursing in several languages as she clawed at skin trying to get some relief. Bly would have found it far more amusing if she wasn’t scratching hard enough to draw blood.

One panicked trip to the medical tent later (Stop laughing Dulak this isn’t funny) and Maris got the benefits of a local remedy—a few hours soaking in a mud bath to deal with the itching, then a daily application of some sort of lotion made from animal fat and a ground-up kind of fungus.

“Rule number one of medicine on a new planet: always ask the locals,” the Force Healer explained as she handed out cases of homemade insect repellent to the grateful clones, another local recipe. Smelled like mold, but given the limited water ration and the mass stank of hundreds of men who had to wear armor all day, it was almost an improvement.

* * *

“Why _don’t_ you wear armor, master?” Aayla had been guiding her padawan through a set of Jar’Kai katas, and hadn’t been expecting the question. While she did not carry dual lightsabers herself, the knight was a practitioner of the form and could comfortably instruct Maris in it.

The usual retort is on the tip of her tongue before she realizes the potential teaching moment. “Well, why do you think I don’t wear armor?”

The zabrak scrunches her face in thought. It’s unfairly adorable. But as moments of silence pass, Knight can feel her student’s struggle through their training bond and decides to throw the girl a bone. “Maris, what lightsaber form do I most often use?”

“Ataru,” is the quick response, though was now confused by the sudden change of subject.

“And what is Ataru?”

“Uh...also known as the Hawkbat form. Very aggressive, was commonly used during the Mandalorian Wars,” all true, but that was just reciting information from past lessons rather than thinking it over for herself. “It involves a lot of--” bingo, “--a lot of running, jumping and spins. A very acrobatic style.”

  
Aayla smiles in encouragement. 

“So you don’t want to wear armor because you don’t want to restrict your movement?” There we go. Maris tilts her head. “But, Master Kenobi wears armor, and he uses Ataru.”

“Mhm, sometimes,” Aayla acknowledges. “But it’s more common for him to use the defensive Soresu form instead.”

She could sense there was more her padawan wanted to say--probably something along the lines of wanting Aayla to wear more armor anyway. But the girl remained silent, and they returned to the lesson.

* * *

Aayla made it a point to be open-minded. She understood that different species had different customs, different values, different dietary needs. Placing your own values, your own idea of ‘normal’ onto another culture was narrow-minded and decidedly unproductive.

Maris was a member of a carnivorous species. Her dietary needs were different than anyone else's. But _still…_

“How can you eat that?” The Knight asked as Maris broke open another bone. A local predator had wandered too close to camp and Bly used it for target practice; two blaster bolts right through its eye. While the meat had been too gamey to be any good, the zabrak has taken its bones for her own snack. Well, the bone _marrow_ to be specific. 

“Come now master,” Maris smiled between sips of yellow goo. “You’re the one who told me to feed on the Living Force.”

“That’s not what I—ugh,” she turned back to her own tasteless rations. “Never mind.”

“Yeah, General,” Bly seconded, sucking out his own gooey snack, “don’t knock it till you try it.”

“I’ll...pass. Thank you.”

* * *

  
“Quinlan. Quinlan stop laughing it was disgusting. They were slurping bone marrow, Master. _Bone marrow._ ”

* * *

After three months on Felucia, Maris’ new armor finally, _finally_ arrived, along with a new batch of shinies straight from Kamino. Bly infinitely preferred to think about that new armor, rather than the likelihood that not even half of the shinies were going to get off this planet alive. (Easier to think of one child he could protect rather than the thousands he couldn’t. Simpler to cling to one success rather than to crack under the weight of their losses.)

The smaller plates fit their little commander much better, but would still need to be adjusted for the best fit. Breastplate, greaves and vambraces. Not a full set—Aayla was right about how much a Jedi relies on mobility in a fight—but certainly enough for Bly to feel a bit easier. One less thing to worry about.

Maris accepted the white plastoid armor with a look of wonder. Her eyes were adorably lit up when she asked when she could paint it.

Bly chuckled. The _verd’ika_ certainly wasn’t shiny anymore, even if her armor was. “The next time we have some downtime, it’ll be all yours.” Maris was a touch better at concealing her feelings, but that excitement was unmistakable. “Make sure you think about what you want, first. Try to find a design that’s uniquely _you._ ”

But of course, Felucia just had to ruin the moment.

“Rancor!” The scouts screamed into their coms, the roar of the beast echoing in their ears.

Kriff.

* * *

“The hell are you doing commander?” Bly demands as the young zabrak moves to get in closer. Because of course, while her master was busy trying to contain the devastation of the great beast her padawan just runs right towards the source.

The fact that the kid has her lightsabers is some comfort, at least. She gets in close, stopping right in front of the bull rancor. A couple of good slashes to its tendons, then a blade through the back of its neck and it would all be over.

But Maris doesn’t start stabbing. Doesn’t even ignite her blades. The kid just raises her hands and...focuses?

_Fierfek_. Look, Bly was down with Force stuff. He was emphatically in favor of using Force stuff. But right now, unless something happened real quick, the commander would prefer if the kid actually used her weapons right now.

The other men notice what she’s doing, and there’s a general sense of confusion in both their body language and echoed through the comms. That’s when he notices that the bull rancor isn’t charging anymore. It was standing there, growling, jaws far too close to the girl’s head. 

Bly flanks and takes aim. The moment he gets a clear shot for that beast’s eye, he’s damn well taking it. Doesn’t even care if it’ll charge at him.

“Hey, hey,” she soothes, placing a pale hand against one of the bull’s tusks, each one of them about as long as she was tall. He can’t tell what she’s trying to do, but he promises the Force whatever the hell it wants if it’ll tell his kid to do the smart thing and _move._

Before he can think about that promise too much, Aayla emerges from the chaos, handing off two troopers to the waiting stretchers. She’s at Bly’s side in a moment, hand on her lightsaber but for some reason not rushing in there to get their kid.

“General—“

She gives the battle sign for _wait_ , and his trust in her is the only reason Bly obeys it.

His general looks significantly less worried about this than she really should. Is this some sort of weird Jedi training thing? Bly can respect letting the kid try new things and make her own mistakes, but not when she’s standing at the mouth of a rancor that could swallow _her whole_.

He can hear Maris again, over the comms. “You’re in pain—show me what happened?”

Wait, what?

The beast silently turns around, lumbering back through the devastation it had charged through not long ago. Maris calmly follows it, power walking to try and compensate for shorter legs.

Bly looked to Aayla. The Twi’lek gave an extremely unhelpful shrug and started running after her padawan.

Okay, so they were doing this now. With a mental sigh, the ARC orders a squad to follow him and starts sprinting after his Jedi.

* * *

Less than two klicks away, they are brought to where the apex predator had made its den. The body of another, smaller rancor was on the ground, covered in blaster marks. The scavengers that had already started pecking it apart the fresh meat scattered at their arrival, ignoring the remains of at least a dozen B-1’s and droidekas.

“Oh,” Maris looks over the scene with genuine sadness. “This was your mate, wasn’t she?”

A creature that big and that deadly had no business making a sound that pitiful.

He looked over to Aayla. “The separatists must have found the pair, and tried to bait the rancors into attacking our position,” the general mused. Her face was the appropriate Jedi detachment, but her lekku twitched out her displeasure.

“Well, that obviously didn’t go to plan,” Bly added, not dropping his guard. More could be waiting for them right now, circling them unseen and ready to strike the moment they let their guard down.

“Don’t worry pet, we’ll find the bad men who did this, okay?” Maris promised the bull. “And we’ll make them hurt.”

“Revenge is _not_ the Jedi way,” Aayla reminded, cautiously moving towards her padawan.

Bly, meanwhile, really hopes that Maris isn’t thinking what he suspects she is because there is no way in Sith hell she is keeping that thing as a pet.

* * *

When they come back to base camp, Maris takes the bull rancor with her--on her armor.

Saint helped her with the design, the trooper having a surprising artistic streak and always glad to share it with other people. Now, Bly watched with a mixture of pride and amusement as Maris paints the rancor on her breastplate with careful brushstrokes.

The head of the beast would take up most of the plate, it’s mouth open as if mid-roar. She recreates its long tusks and sharp teeth in 327th gold. They have plenty of references to work with—just about half of the company was recording her riding a damn bull rancor into battle.

The Seppies hadn’t stood a chance. The few organic commanders they’d managed to capture damn near pissed themselves at the sight of it. After eating one of them, the rancor had stalked off back into the wilds. Bly hadn’t been sad to see it go but was fine keeping his mouth shut for the kid.

He was drawn from his thoughts by feeling someone’s eyes on him. Cue the belated realization that the kid was staring at him. With the breastplate drying, she was moving on to painting her vambraces.

Maris’ eyes flicker from his armor to the piece of it in her lap. “I was thinking, that is--yours is just--I don’t want to be rude…”

After a moment to put that jumble of disconnected clauses together, Bly let out a soft “Oh,” of realization. He cleared his throat and assured her it’s fine to paint a stripe of yellow down the center of the vambrace. You know. Like his. “It’s not like anyone’s going to mix us up.”

A shy smile, a nod, and an embarrassed teenager got back to painting. Bly turns back to his reports and pretends that what he was here to do all along. Obviously. And now he has to leave for a completely normal reason.

* * *

“Cody. Cody, she wanted to paint her armor like mine. I almost cried. Stop laughing you jerk--”

* * *

“Seriously, Master,” the padawan brought up for the dozenth time, “why don’t you wear armor?”

“I trust in the Force,” Aayla dismissed.

The teenager scoffed. “And when your ass gets shot full of blaster bolts, I trust in the Force that I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so’.” After spending most of her first year of apprenticeship in various engagements across the Outer Rim, far removed from the stuffy etiquette of the Temple, Maris Brood had grown into quite the smart-alek. Or maybe she was one already, and just got comfortable enough to let the rest of them in on it.

Not a week later, a shot from a droideka grazed Aayla’s ribs. The zabrak was unbearably smug once it was clear her master wasn’t in any danger. 

* * *

“I always have faith in your judgment,” Aayla assures, placing a sure hand on Bly’s arm.

“Always glad to hear it, General,” he smiles at here. There is a long moment where they’re basically just staring at each other as if they’re the only two people in the room.

“Wait a minute,” Maris whispers over to her grandmaster. “Are they.. _.flirting?”_

“Yep,” Vos confirms, barely hiding a snort of laughter. “Don’t tell them though, they haven’t figured it out yet.”

* * *

“You know,” Maris commented as they took cover from blaster fire. “I’m pretty sure that you’re doing this specifically to irritate me.”

“Doing what?” Aayla asked. They were pinned down in the swamps of Dromund Kaas, lost capital of the Sith Empire.

“Not wearing armor. You’re not wearing armor _specifically_ to try and give me a stress ulcer.”

“You’re too young to get an ulcer,” Aayla commented as Bly throws out a droid popper.

“Yes, but as I watch my _beloved_ Master so carelessly throw herself into harm’s way without even the decency to give herself a _modicum_ of protection, I can’t help but feel you’re trying to give me one. I’m under that much stress.” The zabrak intones with mock seriousness. Aayla doesn’t remember the shy, young padawan she met a year ago being nearly as salty.

“I have my lightsaber. That’s plenty of protection.”

“Tell that to your ribs,” Bly reminded.

“Exactly, I’d feel better if you’d at least wear a backplate.”

“You’re both being completely ridiculous.”

“I don’t know General, that does sound pretty cruel. Especially to those under your command.”

“Not you too,” the knight rolls her eyes. In battle sign, she indicates the three of them charge out on her signal. They sign back a confirmation.

“I’m just saying, that sounds like a serious risk to the commander’s health. And there is a very simple, very doable preventative measure.”

“Will you two stop going on about this?

“We’re wearing her down, I can feel it.” Maris stage-whispered to Bly, who nods in agreement.

Rolling her eyes, Aayla gives the signal and the three move as one.

**Author's Note:**

> I love this family.
> 
> Aayla "I will wear one(1) sleeve and no armor" Secura
> 
> Maris "feral disney princess" Brood
> 
> and Commander "put that rancor back or so help me" Bly
> 
> Also, that conversation about Maris' appropriate attire on Felucia was totally just me throwing shade on Maris' outfit in The Force Unleashed. Just google it and you'll see what I mean. Also, yes, she did keep a rancor as a pet.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this story. If you have any thoughts/questions/just want to scream your feelings at me, comment below and let me know!


End file.
